


I Will Remember You

by maiNuoire



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Temporary Breakup, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:19:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiNuoire/pseuds/maiNuoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack struggles to regain his memories of Bitty.</p>
<p>(For the backstory, please read New Skin by @rransom. This fic was inspired by that lovely work up to Ch. 4, link in notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Remember You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [New Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7467228) by [rransom (Scruffy_Wolf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruffy_Wolf/pseuds/rransom). 



> This was inspired by a lovely fic, and was intended to only be the first part. And then the second scene snuck up on me. And then the third one. 
> 
> You should read the inspiration, and give it love, but a QUICK AND DIRTY BACKSTORY: Jack got into a fight with a homophobe on the ice, and got a severe head injury, causing him to forget pretty much everything after his OD. The memories start to return, but none of his life with Bitty. Jack decides to go back to the Falcs without talking to Bitty.
> 
> I am trying to work out how to get our boys back together, but I am not sure when those scenes will get written. Luckily, [rransom](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rransom) has already written the conclusion of her story, so there is a happy ending to be read soon! Fair warning, these scenes are really freakin' angsty.
> 
> Thank you to @rransom, for permission to play around in your AU, and to @cobrilee for your encouragement and support

Jack isn’t sure what wakes him, but the sound of a low groan from the guest room where Bitty sleeps has his feet on the floor and rushing to the door before he can even really fully open his eyes. By the time he is standing in the hallway outside of Eric’s slightly ajar door, he has realized that it wasn’t a distressed sort of sound, and as Eric makes another barely audible moan, the restrained pleasure of the noise has an answering arousal thrumming through Jack’s body.

 

There’s something instinctive in the response of Jack’s body to Eric’s obvious arousal, but Jack can’t process that while he’s tingling all over. The guest room door is open just enough that Jack can see a small sliver of the bed where Eric is sprawled. The moonlight filtering through the window opposite the bed, and the golden glow of a nightlight from the far corner of the room cast a soft light over the light colored bed sheets.

 

Eric’s visible hand is grasping the sheets, clenching and unclenching in a way that makes the muscles of his forearm stand out in relief; Jack finds the display to be… enticing. For just a moment, Eric’s profile is visible; a study in shadow and light that makes Jack long for a camera before Eric rolls his head away. There’s a steady stream of little whimpers, and the strangely erotic sound of slicked up skin on skin. Jack’s brain supplies him with the image of Eric masturbating, his strong, capable fingers wrapped around a pleasantly thick and surprisingly long cock, working himself slowly, his slim hips bucking and rolling to meet his stroking hand.

 

Jack has to swallow a sound of his own. His fingers itch to take his own hard length in hand, but it feels ten different kinds of wrong to jerk off to the half remembered mental picture of a man he can’t remember loving. That thought makes him ache in a way he thinks he may have to become used to- perhaps that ache is the place where he keeps all his memories and love for Eric Bittle, and that’s why it hurts every time he catches the man’s eye, or his sad smile.

 

There’s still a buzz of _want_ under his skin, coursing through his veins. Eric is getting closer, Jack can see it in the way he shifts, a foot and an angled knee becoming visible as Eric uses the new leverage to fuck into the tunnel of his fist with more force, faster strokes. The sounds he is making should be marketed as an aphrodisiac, Jack is certain he’s already addicted to them. The sound of Eric’s hand working himself is a wonderfully filthy counterpoint to the sweet, quiet curses and moans that fall from his lips (and oh, how Jack wishes he could see Eric’s face! Could see his parted lips as he pants into his pillow; his upturned nose pressed into his own shoulder; his impossibly long eyelashes flutter over blown-wide pupils!)

 

And then, Bitty comes. And Jack nearly falls over from the way his name sounds from Eric’s mouth. “Jack, _fuck_ ” quietly shouted on a soft whine of pleasure hits Jack like a full body check, and it _hurts_ . There’s a brief moment where it’s silent, and then there is an awful, icy certainty that washes over Jack, chasing the flush of desire away more efficiently than an actual punch to the gut: Eric is not about to bask in the afterglow of orgasm, Jack just witnessed a heart _breaking_.

 

Eric curses again, and then he’s sobbing, still quiet, but Jack can see the way he trembles. There’s a muffled thud, the sound of something hard and angry hitting something overly soft and yielding; either Eric’s head or his hand, meeting a pillow with force. Eric sits up in a rush, his feet meeting the floor and his body bending in half as he cradles himself, one arm wrapping around his middle, the other supporting his head as his hand grips his hair tightly.

 

As Eric cries, Jack feels the ache again, something is pulling at him, at the edges of his memory. A hard surface beneath his own similarly posed body, a smaller body beside him, offering comfort. But it’s hazy and uncertain, and Jack is absolutely sure that he doesn’t know how to comfort the man in his-their-guest bedroom. The man he just spied on while he brought himself pleasure. The man who cried his name as he came, and then sobbed around the same syllable a breath later.

 

The man Jack wishes he could remember loving more than anything.

 

He backs out of the hallway as quietly as he can, guilt making him feel heavy and clumsy. He doesn’t sleep until after dawn, and the sunrise does nothing to make his room feel less empty.

 

******

 

Jack wakes after an hour or two of sleep to find himself absently petting the pillow on Eric’s side of the bed. He takes a moment to let the emptiness of the bed, of the room in general, settle over him. The previous night floods his memory a half minute later, and the ache is like a physical weight.

 

He wants to go to Eric, to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to ask for time and patience. But it’s not as though the man hasn’t given him those things freely. It’s not as though Eric has made demands of him. He has done nothing but try to support Jack, and Jack has done… what, exactly? Accepted his help without thanks. Yelled at him. Spied on him in a private moment.

 

Jack sits up slowly, running a hand through his hair as though it will wipe away the sick feeling in his stomach. He resolves that today he will try to remember something about Eric. Maybe Eric will tell him a story about them, and it will jog something in Jack’s memory. It’s a weak plan, but it’s a plan, and Jack is determined that today be the day that the small blond be more than a stranger to him again.

 

As Jack pulls his robe closed, there’s a crash from the kitchen, the sound of shattered glass loud like a gunshot in the morning quiet. He is in the kitchen before he can finish calling out a panicked “Eric?!”

 

Eric is there, of course.Sleep rumpled and soft looking, despite the tension in his frame.  A broom already in hand and the other hand held out to stop Jack. “Stay over there, Jack. You’ll cut your feet all up.” His voice is tired, but edged with tension, and Jack notes that the glass is scattered in a wide arc, so it was likely thrown. He wonders what could have made Eric throw a glass, he seems so calm, usually. Not quick to anger. He notices Eric’s own feet are encased by soft looking slippers, and he takes a moment to be endeared.

 

Eric still won’t look at Jack, and as he dumps the last of the pieces of glass into the garbage bin, the buzz of anxiety quiets in Jack’s brain and he notices that the radio is on, tuned to a sports station. He stares at it in horror as he realizes that they are discussing him returning to the team.

 

Eric puts the broom and dustpan away, and stands facing away from Jack, his hands gripping th edge of the counter. “I-” he stops himself, head down and shoulders tight, takes a deep breath.

 

Jack crosses the kitchen carefully, avoiding getting close enough to Eric to touch him, because he suddenly realizes he desperately wants to, but for perhaps the first time since he woke up in the hospital, he knows it would be unwelcome. He pushes the button that silences the broadcast, and turns to face Eric’s back.

 

“I think it’s best that I leave. For a little while. I’m going to take a break from work and go stay with Shitty and Lardo for a while. I won’t be f-,” he turns around, arms crossed defensively across his chest, facing Jack but not looking at him, choosing an unknown spot somewhere to his right to direct his stare. It makes Jack feel cold all over. Eric looks… broken; sad and small and defeated in a way Jack knows is not a normal state of being for him.

 

“I’ve called your Mama, she and Bob will be here this evenin’.” He opens his mouth to say something. To _ask_ something, if the quirk of his brow is reliable, but snaps his jaw shut, clenching it so hard it looks painful. Jack winces.

 

“Eric, I’m sorry,” he says weakly, unsure of where to start apologizing.

 

“You’re sorry,” Bitty drawls incredulously. “For what, exactly, are you _sorry_ , Jack? That you didn’t tell me you were thinking about gettin’ back on the ice? That you already decided to do it? That I found out from a goddamned radio jock? Or that you didn’t even think about talkin’ to me first, because you don’t think of me at all?” Eric shakes his head when Jack parts his lips to interrupt. “I know you don’t remember Jack, but I am _right here_ for God’s sake. You could try to treat me like more than an inconvenient roommate.”

 

“Eric,” Jack begins, voice aching, uncertain where he plans to go after that. Eric doesn’t give him a chance to figure it out, cutting him off with an anguished sob.

 

“Stop that! Stop callin’ me that. Jesus, Jack. You only call me that when you’re being sweet, when it’s just us, or when you’re with people who don’t know about us and you wanna say ‘baby’, but you can’t. It’s killin’ me to hear it from you when you’re looking at me like a stranger. Please, just…”

 

Eric- Bittle, finally looks at Jack, for just a moment, and the look on his face makes Jack gasp slightly. His eyes are red and brimming with tears, mouth set in a painful frown, and hurt radiating from every inch of his beautiful face.

 

Bittle seems to search Jack’s face for a moment, and Jack holds his breath. Eric must find him lacking, because he shuts his eyes on a sigh and shakes his head. “I’m gonna go an’ pack now,” he says quietly, it sounds like his tongue is too big for his mouth. He turns away from Jack once more and walks silently out of the kitchen, arms still crossed, but now banding his stomach as though holding himself together.

 

Jack is frozen in their kitchen, standing stunned for a long, aching moment. A sudden, overwhelming panic at the thought of Bittle leaving him has him struggling to catch his breath as he lunges his way across the apartment.

 

When he skids through the doorway to the master bedroom, he stops breathing for a moment at the sense of deja vu that overcomes him. Bittle- Bitty! That’s it! Bitty is slumped inwards, like he’s collapsed a little, folding clothes and setting them aside gently, sniffling occasionally and muttering to himself.

 

A soft “Oh, lord help me,” falls from his lips, and Jack suddenly can’t breathe.

 

He’s across the room in a matter of milliseconds, standing behind Eric, and exhaling a desperate sounding “Bitty,” that takes all his strength to get past his trembling lips. Bitty turns around abruptly and they’re standing almost chest to chest; Jack can feel the heat of him all along his front. There’s a look of shock and confusion bordering on hope on his face; it’s clear he hadn’t noticed Jack’s presence while he packed.

 

They stare at each other for long moments, suspending on the edge of something. When Bitty speaks, a simple “Jack, honey, are you alright?” his voice is tired, exhausted, even, but soft and patient.

 

“Always so patient with me,” Jack breathes into the short distance between them, wonder and awe evident in his tone. Bitty’s eyes are wide and damp, and Jack’s fingers itch to cradle his face, to wipe away the tear tracks that line Bitty’s cheeks. He doesn’t fight the desire t touch this time, raising his hand carefully to swipe gently at the evidence of Bitty’s pain, settling his hand against one softly stubbled cheek.

 

They’re still just staring a t each other, only now Jack has one hand holding Bitty’s hip, and Bitty has tentatively rested his palms on Jack’s chest. “Jack,” Bitty asks lightly, “Are you remem-,” he blinks slowly and takes a deep breath, steels himself for an upset, “Is everything alright? I should really get back to…” he waves a hand vaguely at the open suitcase and the pile of clothes. Jack shakes his head slowly.

 

“Er- Bitty. Have we done this before?” There’s hope, eager and bright, in Jack’s voice, and Bitty  catches it as clearly as if it’d been written on Jack’s face; a small smile tugs at the corner of Bitty’s mouth, the slightest of an upturned curve. It’s a blink and you’d miss it thing, Jack wouldn’t’ve caught it if he hadn’t been staring at Bitty’s lips.

 

“Jack Zimmermann, did you run all the way here,” there’s something fond and expectant in Bitty’s question. It’d be playful if the man wasn’t so tired, so accustomed to recent disappointments. Jack gets the feeling there’s a script he’s meant to follow, but all he can think is _kiss him kiss him kiss him_.

 

So, he does. Jack curls forward enough to fit his lips over Bitty’s, presses them together softly at first, and then with increasing intensity as Bitty sags against Jack, wrapping his arms around Jack’s neck and making a painful sound into Jack’s mouth.

 

After an indeterminate number of minutes lost in the delicious, familiar but exciting drag and glide of kissing, Bitty breaks the moment, pulling away. His eyes remain closed for a few breaths, and Jack greedily takes in the way Bitty looks when he’s allowing himself to be vulnerable; he’s breathtaking.

 

When he opens his eyes, it’s clear whatever walls he’s built up in the last weeks have been knocked down, and the raw emotion in the dark amber depths of his gaze makes that ache inside Jack flare. “Jack. If you’re not remembering the same thing I am right now, I’m not sure I can take it if you were to kiss me again.”

 

It’s like a knife in Jack’s chest. He is sure if he’s actually _remembering_ anything, but the moment felt so _familiar_.

 

“I’m not-” Bitty’s face shutters, and he begins to pull away, Jack holds him tighter and rushes through the next part, “That is, I’m not sure if I’m- _what_ \- I’m remembering. I know this feels like it’s important, like it’s something we’ve done before. I know I felt like if I didn’t kiss you, that I’d lose you forever. Bitty, please. I-”

 

“Shh. Shh, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay,” Bitty’s hand runs through Jack’s hair, and Jack finds that the anxiety he’d been on the verge of is ebbing away with the soothing motion and the drawled reassurance. When Jack’s mostly calm again, he meets Bitty’s gaze and finds himself sinking into the other man easily, like it’s a practiced thing that his body remembers, even as his mind insists that Bitty can’t hold him up. He does, though. Bitty holds him up, and Jack feels surrounded by him.

 

“You back with me, now?” Bitty’s arched brow adds the question mark for him, his voice even and steady, rehearsed but not forced. Jack realizes they must have done this before, Bitty calming him through a panic attack.

 

Jack nods, and Bitty smiles for real then. It’s a small thing, but it lights him up and Jack basks in it. “You’re right, Jack. This is a little like our first kiss, actually. Though, I s’pose this was a little like a first kiss, too, eh?” The last bit is more than a little sad, and it taints Bitty’s smile, but Jack tries to focus on the fact that he got it right. He lets that bloom into hope inside him; hope that he can get Bitty back.

 

“I still think I need to leave, Jack. This doesn’t change that y-” Bitty sighs again, taking a small step back and letting his hand fall away from Jack’s neck, the loss makes Jack shiver. “As much as I miss kissing you,” he says with a small grin, “I’m not sure I can be here right now. I need some time to think, and I don’t know if I can keep living in our guest room and still get my head on straight.”

 

Jack opens his mouth to tell Bitty to move back into their room, to tell him that the bed feels wrong without him in it, that he wakes up holding Bitty’s pillow, or patting the empty side of the bed, sleepily searching for his warmth, but a look from Bitty silences him. “No, Jack. I know you like to do things at 110, but this is not something you can beat with effort and determination, baby. I’ll stay until your folks get in, and we’ll see how things shake out then, alright?”

 

As much as Jack wants to argue, wants to beg, he knows Bitty is right, knows that he’s been selfish, and that he needs to not be, now. So, he takes Bitty’s hand in both of his, and places a soft kiss on his knuckles. He makes sure he’s looking right at Bitty when he says “Okay, Eric.”

 

The way Bitty’s eyes widen and his lips part slightly makes Jack’s heart flutter in a way he knows is just a thing that happens in Bitty’s presence. He has a moment then, where he knows that they’re going to be okay. “Okay,” he repeats, and when Bitty lets Jack pull him in for a lingering embrace, he’s sure that the other man feels it, too.

 

******

 

By the time Jack’s parents arrive, Jack is certain that he was wrong about him and Bitty working things out.  After settling Jack in on a couch with a book and a glass of water, Eric had immediately disappeared into the kitchen; the clatter of dishes and the opening and closing of cabinets a constant and surprisingly comforting sound. When the sweet, low sound of Bitty singing along to a barely audible playlist joined the cacophony, a warm rush of affection went through Jack, something about the lyrics tugging at his memory in a way that left him frustrated.

 

At some point, an uncertain amount of time later, Bitty emerged with a plate that he set in front of Jack, and one for himself. He settled on the opposite end of the couch quietly, allowing Jack a small smile when their eyes met and Jack said “Thank you”, but when Jack had asked him tentatively for the story of their first kiss while the memory still felt like a spectre hovering on the edge of his awareness, Bitty’s smile had fled. Jack regretted the request immediately, and even more so when Bitty cleared his throat and replied.

 

“No, Jack. I don’t think I can do that just now. I’m s-. I’m glad you’re curious about our life together, but I don’t think that I can talk about it with you right now. Maybe. Maybe in a few days, after some time apart,” Bitty didn’t really finish what he was saying, his voice breaking on the last words, eyes darting quickly away from Jack to look anywhere but at him.

 

After a moment, where Jack watched Bitty blink rapidly to avoid crying and felt an uncomfortable lump in his own throat. He cleared it with a low cough, and, remembering the plate in his lap, broke the silence with “This looks delicious,” and a hearty bite of the sandwich.

 

There’s a grateful flash in Bitty’s eyes, and Jack feels proud. When Bitty nods and starts to eat his own meal, Jack feels something unknot in his stomach.

 

Soon after, Eric returns to the kitchen, and Jack feels his absence acutely. The clamor in the kitchen started up again, and Jack took a deep breath, letting the noise fill up the empty room.

 

When there’s a knock at the door, Jack has started to doze, and it startles him.

 

Eric beats him to the door, and as the door swings open to reveal his parents standing in the hallway, Jack is frozen in place. His mother looks worried, but fierce, unnameable emotions crackling in her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bitty in a tight embrace.

 

_X_

 

Bitty practically sprints to answer the door when he hears the knock, he knows Jack is sleeping, his book open in his lap, and a part of him thinks he can just usher the Zimmermann’s inside and make his escape before Jack wakes up, if he can only answer the door fast enough.

 

When he opens the door, Alicia is standing nearest the door, beautiful as always, but obviously tired and worried, she glances past Bitty for a half second and there’s real anger on her face for the briefest of moments, but when her gaze swings back to Bitty, there’s nothing but warmth and concern there. She gathers Eric up in a tight hug, and he lets himself sink into it, breathing in the now familiar scent of her expensive shampoo and fighting the tears that want to come. She whispers sincerely in his ear, voice warm and full of conviction, “We love you so much, sweetheart. So much. And we’re going to get through this.” Eric can hear how much she’s hurting, and it makes him ache.

 

When Alicia pulls away, she puts a cool, graceful hand on either side of Eric’s face, and smiles at him, says quietly “Oh, _fils de mon coeur_ ,” before pressing a kiss to both of his cheeks and patting them gently before moving away to allow Bob to step in with their bags.

 

Bob enters with a sad smile and pulls Eric into a fatherly hug that lingers in the way that hugs of mourning tend to. When he pulls away though, he tries for a lighter mood, grinning and patting Eric’s cheek in the same manner Alicia had. “So, _mon beau fils_ , what is it that smells so delicious in here?”

 

Bitty is grateful for the distraction, so he chuckles along with Bob as he steps aside to help the older man with the luggage. When he turns fully into the room, Jack is standing stock still, watching the exchange between Eric and his parents with a strange look on his face. Alicia approaches him, and it shakes him out of it a little, they embrace, and Alicia lets loose a string of rapidfire Quebecois that Bitty only catches the words “ _beau garcon_ ” and “ _idiot_ ” and _“je t’aime”._

 

When Bob approaches them, Bitty looks away, overcome, half listening to the murmur of foreign words he half recognizes.

 

By the time he feels composed enough to look back, Alicia has settled into the corner of one of the couches, looking smaller than usual. “Oh, Eric, honey I almost forgot,” she proclaims, rummaging through her nearby bag and pulling out a small package and a brightly colored envelope with his name on it. “Here, this is from Bob and I. We’re so sorry we missed your graduation, but we’re so proud of you.” Eric moves forward a few steps from where he stands, still only partway in the room, to meet Bob, who has taken the offering from his wife to deliver it.

 

“Oh gosh, thank you so much. I, uh. I wouldn’t’ve expected y’all to even remember, considering-” Everyone’s smiles falter a little at that, and Jack remains silent. “Anyhow,” Eric continues, ignoring the unfinished sentence hanging in the air, “I should go finish packing, I’m taking the last train out tonight and I don’t want to get stranded at the station.”

 

“Are you sure you can’t stay just tonight, son? We could catch up on your life a little,” Bob asks, earnest and kind, but the string of endearments both older Zimmermann’s have been throwing at him since they arrived each sting like a sharp blade. He has been mostly successful in ignoring the possible consequences of losing Jack, but the presence of Bob and Alicia is suddenly a sharp reminder that he could lose them, too. He’s sure that no one misses his harsh inhale, but aside from a flicker of concern on all three Zimmermann faces, no one calls him on it.

 

“Shitty and Lardo are pickin’ me up, I don’t want to cancel on them so late. But maybe if I come back before you have to head home we can do that,” no one misses Jack’s sharp breath when Bitty mentions not coming back, but again, aside from knowing looks from his parents, and a confused one from Eric, no one reacts outwardly.

 

“We’ll let you finish then,” Alicia says softly. “Can we give you a ride to the station?”

 

“I think it’s best if I take a taxi, but thank you.” There’s a long, quiet moment where Bob and Alicia exchange significant looks, and Jack stares helplessly around the room avoiding eye contact, and Bitty aches a little at the way Jack’s parents are speaking without actually speaking, and how he and Jack used to have that. “Oh! I almost forgot,” he blurts out, a little too exuberantly. “There’s a few days of meals for y’all in the fridge, and there’s a blueberry crumble cake coolin’ on the counter. I even managed a maple apple pie for you, Bob, and those lemon bars you love, Alicia.”

 

His smile is too wide for all the tension in the room, and it makes his face ache, but the way Bob and Alicia light up in surprise, the shadows of the last weeks temporarily lifting, makes it soften into something more genuine.

 

“Oh, Eric, you didn’t have to go through all that trouble for us! Though I will certainly not let those incredible lemon bars go to waste,” Alicia teases. Bitty tries not to notice the surprised fondness on Jack’s face, but he fails.

 

“I knew I smelled my favorite pie,” Bob declares with a grin.

 

Bitty laughs lightly, relieved at the shift in energy. “It was no trouble at all. Anything for my favorite in-laws,” he stops abruptly after the last words, feels them hanging in front of him like a flashing sign, too obvious and awkward.

 

He physically shakes it off, and as he leaves the room without another word, he purposely ignores the stricken look on Jack’s face, and how sad the other two Zimmermann’s look. Pity is not something Bitty can handle just then. When he is back in the bedroom, he allows himself to collapse on the bed for just a moment. It isn’t until he goes to drop his head in his hands that he realizes he’s still clutching the graduation gift. He smooths out the rumpled paper, and places it in the side pocket of his suitcase.

  
He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to open it. Not until he knows whether or not he still has a place in this family that he's come to love.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/poetry-protest-pornography)


End file.
